The Dragonslayers of Station 51
by katbybee
Summary: This will be an ongoing collection of drabbles, shorts, and other glimpses into the lives of our heroes; the good, the bad, the funny, and the ugly they must face as they are tasked with keeping The Beast & the bad guys at bay in LA County. Be fairly warned: There will be occasional visitors wandering in and out from other fandoms! Mine is an equal-opportunity muse! Don't own, etc.
1. Are You Kidding Me?

Chapter One—Are You Kidding Me?

Chet Kelly had a headache. A bad one. Aspirin hadn't touched it. Sleep was impossible. He didn't want to go off-shift for just a headache. And he was being a royal pain! Especially when Mike Stoker claimed to have the cure, but Chet refused to believe him. Mike explained it one time, as was his custom, and then clammed up. Chet was free to do as he pleased. Chet's reaction to Mike's "cure" had been, typically, "Are you kidding me?" The last thing Mike said to him before lights out was, as always, succinct and to the point: "Either try it, or stop whining." Chet's other shift-mates all chimed in with their hearty agreement.

Chet's problem with it wasn't that he didn't trust Mike. It was just that it sounded too, well, _spacey_! Which was confusing, because of all the guys, Mike was one of the least spacey types he knew. Now, if it had been Gage—him he could have understood coming up with something so weird—but Mike?

Chet hadn't realized he was mumbling all this out loud, until Marco turned to him, and even in the dark he could tell his partner was aggravated. "¡ _Dios_ , Chet, _silencio_! _Ve a dormir_! Go to sleep!" Four other sleepy voices mumbled, "Shut up, Chet!"

Chet lay back, frustrated, his head pounding, and decided he had nothing to lose. His night's sleep would be shot anyway, as this migraine was probably the worst he had ever had. He began to take deep, slow breaths, as Mike had instructed, and feeling silly, reached for his left earlobe—and pinched it hard, holding on tightly. He kept the up the pressure as the pain began to ease slightly.

He then began step two of the process, which also felt ridiculous, but at this point, he wasn't going to knock it. While still holding his ear, Chet began rubbing his index finger very lightly in small, gentle circles just above his left eyebrow. This was the side the headache was worst on. *

To his complete amazement, within just a few minutes, Chet's headache was nearly gone. He kept it up for a few minutes longer, and the pain was completely gone. He sighed in relief and rolled carefully onto his side, afraid it would come back. It didn't. In a few more minutes, his quiet snores filled the dorm.

Over on the other side of the dorm, Mike Stoker grinned into the darkness. He had known Chet would eventually give in; that with that headache, he'd have to. Tomorrow morning, he would have a little ammunition with which to needle The Phantom!

51

*Btw, yes, this two-step, acupressure/deep-breathing exercise _does_ work for getting rid of headaches. At least, it is extremely helpful to me when I get a migraine. I use it in combination with reducing light and sound stimuli.


	2. Murder and Mayhem

Chapter Two—Murder and Mayhem

Captain Hank Stanley was a happy man. He had just spent all afternoon typing up his weekly runs report for HQ. This particular report was the bane of his existence, because it had to be typed in triplicate, which meant using carbon paper. Hank _despised_ carbon paper. With a passion. Because he also hated typing reports. With a passion. Sometimes he could con Mike into typing them up for him, but at the moment, Mike was studying for his Engineer's Recertification Exam, and that took priority. He missed Mike's typing them, because Mike was a whiz on the typewriter. Ahhhh, well. The exam was next week, and after that, everything would be back to normal. Well, Hank amended, as normal as it ever gets in this nuthouse!

With deep satisfaction, he sighed and squared up the papers into the fresh file folder. He turned to place the file folder in his top file cabinet drawer. What he failed to realize as he dropped the folder into the front of the drawer was that an immediate and _unfortunate_ chain of events was set off by his action:

His metal thermos, which he had casually dropped into the drawer earlier had;

Bumped into the bottle of white vinegar;

Which Mike Stoker had hidden there from The Phantom the night before; *

And had caused said bottle to leak prodigiously into the drawer,

Which also contained two boxes of baking soda, which;

Caused the baking soda boxes to rupture at the precise moment that;

Captain Stanley placed the file in the drawer…

" **STOKER… KELLY!"**

*A/N: See "Mike Stoker and the Back-off Cake"


	3. Close Quarters

The quiet is unnerving, and I know boredom and anxiety are going to be our worst enemies the longer this stretches on. Also, the elevator had dropped at least half a floor when the power shut down and the lights went out, so there's bound to be at least a few injuries, which I would bet no one is going to admit to. And now that the initial scare is over, nobody is saying a word into the pitch-black silence.

This situation would be laughable, if it wasn't so damned ironic. Here I am, Captain of one of the best shifts in LACoFD, plus one spare paramedic, and we are all sitting on our asses during a major blackout, because there are no resources to come get us out of here "at this time; ETA unknown, unable to advise. Please standby." That's bad enough.

The really stupid thing is that we are stuck on an elevator between Floors 26 and 27—of the brand new, _**not yet**_ _**open for business,**_ Los Angeles County Fire Department Headquarters Building! Worse, Brice is along for the ride! He had just happened to come into to the station to borrow a manual from me. Since he had the day off, and felt he might benefit from the _learning experience_ , here he sits! I cringe at the thought of the inevitable fireworks…

We were doing a safety inspection when the apparently massive blackout hit. Which means we have no equipment with us other than flashlights, clipboards, and HT's; plus the stuff on John and Roy's belts, and in our own pockets. We even elected to leave off our turnouts, as it was a hot day, and of course, the A/C was off. No rope, no climbing gear, nada! So, now all we can do now is wait. As I call out for an assessment of our supplies and situation, a low, steady stream of pained obscenities cut me off. Chet. He sounds out of it, woozy. Terrific. The Phantom with a possible head injury. This just keeps getting better and better.

"Roy, you okay? "Yeah, Cap."

"Check on Chet, Pal." "Already there, Cap."

I decide to do this roll call style, just to keep it organized.

"Stoker!" "Here, Cap, over in the far corner, uhh, to your left."

"Injuries or supplies?" "I may have broken my left wrist, but it's not too bad. A few cuts, maybe. I have my knife, my t-shirt for bandages, and somebody left a magazine on the floor over here. We could use it for a splint if somebody needs it. Also, I have about ¾ of the bottle of water I was drinking left. Also, my lighter."

"Good deal. Thanks, Mike."

A muffled voice piped up, "Hey, Mikey, I didn't know you smoked."

With a sigh, Mike replied, "I don't, Chet."

Sounding confused, Chet asked, "Well, then how come ya got a lighter?"

Mike smirked, realizing it was probably a mild concussion talking. "To scorch The Phantom's tail feathers with, Chet. Now, hush and let Roy check you out, okay?"

Again, the confused lineman's voice cut through the darkness. "But I don' wan…Roy sheckin' meout! Heeez nodda a-a chick!"

This time everybody in the elevator, even the normally stoic Craig Brice completely lost it!

Eventually Roy, with his partner's help, finally got Chet settled down and discovered he did have a mild concussion; which was indeed making him even loopier than normal.

As we went on through the roll call, and pooled resources, we discovered we actually had enough supplies to make it through a few hours fairly comfortably. Thanks to Gage's always thinking about food, we even had several sandwiches and some cookies to share!

The most serious injuries seemed to be Chet's concussion, Mike's broken wrist, and an injury that Marco was being suspiciously quiet about. All he would say was that he was having a little pain, and that he was handling it fine.

To combat the inevitable boredom, somebody suggested telling stories. Johnny sounded perplexed. "Well, what kinda stories?" Marco sounded annoyed, "I don't know amigo! Any stories! Just not girl stories!" This remark caught a round of laughter, and a snort from Johnny that I would bet was accompanied by a sizzling look Marco felt clear across the elevator.

Eventually, Roy broke the ice by telling a story from when he had been a medic in Vietnam, about a pilot he had met who had taught a monkey to start his plane each morning, so he wouldn't have to get out of bed to do it. Mike was incredulous. "So what happened?" "Eventually, the monkey stole the plane, flew off one morning, and they never saw the plane, or the monkey, again."* Again, the men dissolved into hysterical laughter, and even Chet was moaning because he was laughing so hard it made his head hurt.

Eventually, even Brice opened up a bit, and told a couple of stories involving his first couple of weeks attempting to work with Bellingham, also known as "The Animal." The two were absolutely the most mismatched pair of paramedics in the department, but for some reason, their ability to work together as a team was nearly as legendary as Gage and DeSoto's. They had nearly the same ability to read each other, and absolutely nobody understood it.

About six hours later, as most of us are dozing fitfully, the lights suddenly come on, and the elevator hums to life with a lurch. "¡Madre de Dios, ayuadame!, por favor!" ** Marco's cry of pain startles us all awake, as the elevator begins its descent to the ground floor. All eyes turn to the right hand corner, where Marco sits quietly looking at us all, his right calf wrapped tightly in his t-shirt. A narrow shard of metal stripping from the baseboard of the elevator had impaled his leg when the elevator fell. He had said nothing, because at the time, he had known there was nothing to be done. He had already done what he could, by keeping the wound from bleeding out. The lurch of the elevator had shifted the metal and started the bleeding again. Brice snipped off the metal with his bandage scissors, and Mike added his t-shirt to Marco's. We simply loaded him into the Engine, rather than wait for an ambulance. Time was not on our side at that point, so it became a grab and go situation, in order to save Marco's leg.

Mike turned a normally 27 minute trip into 14 minutes flat, with John and Roy both working on Marco on the hose bed in the back of the Engine. With Chet laid out on the back seat of the Engine, with Brice watching over him like a mother hen, guess who got to drive the squad into Rampart? That was one helluva trip, believe me! Mike loves to watch NASCAAR whenever he gets a chance, and we like to tease him he should be a driver someday. After that trip, I don't think I'll kid him about it anymore! He really is that good!

It took Marco about six weeks to recover from the surgery to repair his leg. He spent two weeks in the hospital and drove the nurses crazy. He went through rehab, and before long, he was back with us, and had another beaut of a scar to show off.

As for Chet, he had very little side effects from his elevator adventure. He and the Phantom were back after their Pigeon the very next shift

And the normalcy of the chaos that reigns on A- shift suits their captain just fine!

~~~The End~~~

A/N: *This is a true story, but it actually happened to my best friend's father over in Japan during the Korean War. It was a friend of his who was the pilot who trained the monkey.

** "¡Madre de Dios. Ayudame, por favor!" "Mother of God, help me, please!"


	4. Lopez and the Floor Monster

Lopez and the Floor Monster

"Hey, guys, come quick!" Chet Kelly's slightly panicked voice carried into the kitchen. "The floor buffer decided to eat Lopez!"

The rest of A-shift hurried into the dorm area to see what was going on. Sure enough, their very embarrassed senior lineman was laying on the floor, with his arm stuck inside the bottom of the floor buffer, shooting a very annoyed stink-eye at his partner, who simply grinned at him in response.

Cap looked at Marco, incredulous. "You okay, Lopez? What the hell happened, anyway?"

"I am fine, Cap! I was buffing the floor when my St. Florian medal* necklace broke. I reached down to get it when this monster sucked it up. I grabbed the chain without thinking and _Madre de Dios_ , she eats me!"

This last comment caused the crew to all crack up.

After calling the station temporarily unavailable, the men all set to work disassembling the offending machine, and freeing their grumbling shift-mate. Naturally, a great deal of teasing—as well as more than a few Spanish expletives were traded back and forth in the process.

Once Marco's arm and his medal were free of the buffer, and it was determined that there was no major injury to anything but his pride, Cap looked balefully at the pieces of the machine scattered on the floor and sighed.

"Well, I wonder what Charlie knows about fixing floor buffers?"

Johnny groaned and rolled his eyes, "Awww, Cap, can't we just buy a new one? It'd be a whole lot safer…and quieter!"

The others all laughed in agreement, as they simply filed out of the room, leaving their perplexed Captain to figure this one out on his own.

After all… _this_ was why he got to wear the white hat…

~51~

A/N: St. Florian is the patron saint of firemen.


	5. Sometimes the Dragon Wins

_Chapter Five—Sometimes the Dragon Wins_

"How long do you think it's been?"

"I dunno, couple hours, maybe." Hard to tell in the dark." Chet Kelly was tired. The smoke wasn't making things any easier, but at this point, the trapped men hardly noticed it any more. The concrete holding them in place was concerning them more. Chet was sure his leg was broken, again. He was far more concerned about the other man trapped with him, however.

"We shoulda heard something by now."

"Yeah, I know. I know. Maybe the others are trapped, too." This thought scared him more than anything. It was a big building they were trapped in, and they had been fairly high up during that last collapse. They had fallen a long way. He hated to admit it, but it would have been easier if he had been trapped with someone he knew. But this kid, a probie from 88's named Dunlop… He was so young, and hurt so bad…Kelly knew the kid wasn't going to make it if they didn't get help soon. He could tell by the way the kid's breathing had changed in the last half-hour. _Come on guys…where are you?!_

It was quiet for a while, and then Dunlop spoke again. "Hey, Kelly, is it true you're the famous Phantom over at 51's?" His voice was strained now, and scratchy.

"Yeah, kid, how'd you know about that?"

"Hell, everybody at the academy has heard about you and your Pigeon! Tell me some stories about some of your pranks…it's not often I get to meet a celebrity."

Chet chuckled at that, and proceeded to tell Rick Dunlop every silly story about his and Gage's prank war he could think of. He had just related the story of causing Gage's boots to erupt into volcanoes when there came a slight shift in the wreckage, and Ricky suddenly screamed.

"AAArgh…damn, it hurts, Kelly! Oh, God it hurts!" The younger man broke off with a cry… and was silent once again.

"Dunlop…Ricky! Come on, man! Don't give up! Don't leave me alone here, man!" His own pain intensified after the shifting, and now his arm and shoulder were hurting as well.

All Chet could hear now was Dunlop's ragged breathing. Soon, it turned into a gurgling rattle…and then total silence. And Chet knew it was too late. Richard Dunlop, LACoFD, aged 19, was dead.

For the first time in a very long time, Chet Kelly cried. The edges of his consciousness blurred around him, and he gave in to the darkness.

He woke to voices near him. "Kelly?! Dunlop?!" "51? 88?" "Kelly?! Dunlop?!"

Kelly managed to turn his head and croak out, "Kelly, over here…we're over here."

He heard digging and movement as debris and concrete were shoved away from him, and soon he looked up into the worried faces of his shift-mates, Marco Lopez and Roy DeSoto. It took time to free him, and as they worked, he tried to make them understand.

"I-I'm sorry. I tried. I tried to keep him awake. I tried to keep him going. I-I couldn't…"

The pain on their faces told Kelly they already knew. Roy nodded. "You couldn't have done any better, Chet. You kept him from being scared. From being alone. That's all any of us can do. He didn't have to be alone. You did good." Tears were flowing freely down all three faces as they finished preparing Chet for transport.

Sometimes the dragon wins…but the knight _always_ gets in the last blow.

~The End~


	6. The Malevolent Mink

The Malevolent Mink

The nasty little critters were staring malevolently back at him, as if asking him how he had gotten himself into this ridiculous predicament. He was asking himself the same question. Of course, if he were in their position, he would probably be unhappy, too. He would hate to be in _their_ position.

The corpulent matron was busy screaming in his ear, so he supposed that was a good thing in one way. He was reassured that she didn't _sound_ injured. He just wished she either had a volume control, or his shift-mates ranged outside the back of the limo would stop laughing long enough to free his arm from the damned fur stole…the heads of the critters were still attached for God's sake! And staring at him!

He caught the limo driver eyes staring at him in the rearview mirror. The grinning man looked as if this were not the first crazy incident in which "Madame" had ever been involved. In fact, the man looked as if this were perhaps, _normal_? Great, Thousands of limos on the freeways every day, and he got stuck with a 300 pound madwoman. Peachy.

Everything had gone smoothly until he had made the mistake of using a simple dose of smelling salts to revive the lady, after ascertaining she was uninjured, and had apparently simply fainted after receiving some unhappy news. Outside the lady's hearing, behind the limo, her husband had been quick to assure the paramedics this was not the first time such an event had happened, and probably would not be the last.

Roy had quickly grabbed the biophone to begin communication with Rampart, which left Johnny to deal with the victim. _Thanks a heap, partner_ , Johnny thought darkly, glowering over at Roy. Roy simply shot him one of his wide-eyed innocent smiles as he began his transmission.

Johnny had done his assessment and applied the smelling salts. And immediately, all hell had broken loose in the back seat of the limo. The woman had lunged forward shrieking at the top of her lungs, catching Johnny off-balance and knocking him sideways to the floor of the limo. His left arm became tangled in her mink stole, when she suddenly bucked backwards with her considerable bulk trapping Johnny's arm behind her right shoulder, and his head canted face-first into the faces of the afore-mentioned nasty little mink heads. Their sharp pointed teeth and little noses, and their glassy eyes were really beginning to unnerve Johnny, especially because the woman was now screaming something about his being a masher, and if she didn't stop moving she was going to break his arm.

Within a minute or so, the others realized the seriousness of the situation and came to Johnny's rescue. Roy finally had to administer a mild sedative to calm the woman long enough for them to lean her forward and free John's arm. Fortunately, it wasn't broken, only bruised and feeling a bit squashed. The woman refused transport, and the husband signed the necessary paperwork. Within minutes, they were on their way.

As the engine crew, shaking their heads and still chuckling over the absurdity of the situation got ready to leave the scene, Mike Stoker walked over to Johnny, who was sitting with the squad door open, cradling his abused arm. He looked straight at the paramedic and deadpanned, "So, my question is, in the logbook, who're you gonna put down as the victim?"


	7. Overtime

Overtime

Johnny Gage was getting in some OT over at his old station 10, filling in for a vacationing paramedic. It would be good to be working with his old partner, Tony Freeman, who had ended up back at his original station. Tony grinned at the sight of the younger man, and offered him coffee as they sat at the kitchen table with the rest of the firefighters, waiting for roll call. At that moment, one of the others brought a scruffy black and white mutt of indeterminate pedigree into the room, and removed his leash. The roving furball gave the stranger a sniffover and retreated under the table.

Most of the men ignored the mutt until a few minutes later when a noxious odor capable of rendering even the strongest man unconscious filled the air. Stunned, Johnny realized none of the others reacted with anything more than a smirk or an eye roll. Eyes watering, John turned to Tony. "What the hell was _that_?!" Grinning, Tony pointed under the table at the shaggy offender. "Him. We don't call him "Bomb Squad" for nothing!" John dared a peek under the table. And would have sworn the little devil was grinning…

~51~

A/N: I am the loving owner of a 2 ½ yr. old, 9lb. iggy-pin (half Italian greyhound-half miniature pinscher) named Miss Walter. She was the inspiration for this story…I _seriously_ mis-named her! (And yes, Italian greyhounds are called IGs or iggys!)

Don't be surprised if Bomb Squad pops up in other stories or other fandoms… I really could have fun torturing all sorts of characters with visits from this noxious little furball… ;-)


	8. Not Their Day

Sometimes, it just wasn't their day. All shift long, things had been going wrong. And it wasn't even Wednesday. * For one thing, the plumbing in the showers broke…right after Roy and Cap had lathered up. And Cap had not yet rinsed the shampoo from his hair. They were not happy. Mike and Chet ended up bringing pots of water from the kitchen to help them finish. And that left Johnny and Marco, who had drawn last showers to basically do old-fashioned spit baths to try and get as clean as possible. It wouldn't have been so bad if they weren't all filthy from fighting a building fire. Even Mike was a mess, because a something inside the building had exploded and sent debris flying in all directions…including all over the nearest engine…and its stalwart engineer. Fortunately, he had not been physically injured, but he was plenty upset about the dings and scratches on his baby. He had hosed her off the minute they had gotten back to the station, and put in a call to Charlie, who promised to come by to check her out later that day. For some reason, unlike the other firefighters, Charlie never seemed to get upset with Mike when anything happened to Big Red on his watch. Apparently, the two were wired alike…which was a frightening thought…

Mike and Chet…first in the showers had finished up and had settled into the Dayroom when they heard the shouts and cursing. By the time they got Cap and Roy sorted out, and Johnny and Marco were at least respectable, all the men were ready for a good, strong cup of coffee. They were grateful Johnny had put on a fresh pot before all the craziness had started. Mike picked up the pot and frowned. "Ah, man, Johnny," he groused. "I thought you said you made a fresh pot!"

Johnny scowled. "I did! I made that pot not even an hour ago!"

Mike snorted. "Well, it's stone-cold now. You must have turned if off or something."

Johnny walked over to Mike and took the pot out of his hands. "I did not. I made it right."

Mike shrugged in disgust and walked out of the room, probably headed out to fuss over his baby.

Cap and the others looked on in puzzlement. "So, what happened, Gage?"

"Dunno, Cap. It's plugged in, and turned on…just…cold."

Cap looked around at the men as Johnny stared at the pot in confusion, then quickly unplugged it.

"Okay…which one of you twits broke the coffeepot?"

The klaxons sounded in the middle of a chorus of protests and all the men rushed to their places.

As they roared out of the station, each man had the same thought:

"What the heck are we in for next?"

~51~

A/N: See the episode "Weird Wednesday."


	9. The Badge

Chet Kelly was famous for losing his badge. And Captain Stanley was getting tired of his constant searches, and being subsequently late for roll call. He had once threatened to pin it to his forehead. Unfortunately, nothing so far had worked. Until the day Cap found the badge, after Kelly had gone off-shift. It was on the floor by Chet's locker. In his haste to get changed, apparently the man had not seen it fall.

Cap was a bit miffed over this…the badge was a symbol of who they were as firefighters. And so, he decided to teach the man a lesson. He wiped off the badge, and placed it carefully in his desk drawer and locked it. He then left a note on Chet's locker. "See me before you get dressed...Cap."

~E!~

On his next shift, Chet skittered into the locker room, sweating because he was almost late. He frowned as he read the note. _Now what?_

He knew Cap was in his office, as the door was open. He headed over, wondering what he had done that Cap wanted to see him. He couldn't think of anything, offhand. He shrugged and tapped on the doorframe. "You wanted to see me, Cap?"

"Kelly, come in and shut the door." The command was flat and inflectionless. Kelly immediately realized he was in the doghouse. Stanley eyed the younger man sternly. "You may find you're missing something from your locker. When you figure it out, come back to see me. Dismissed." Stanley picked up the file he had been working on, and did not look up again.

Mystified, Chet headed back to his locker. He got dressed quickly, and then began searching for his missing badge. It took him only a couple of minutes to connect what Cap had said. With a sense of dread, Chet made his way back across the bay to Cap's office. Stanley looked up, and silently beckoned him into the room.

Without a word, Cap reached into his drawer, and pulled out Kelly's badge. He placed it on the desk in front of himself. "Do you want to know where I found this?"

Kelly sighed and nodded. Cap stared at him for a moment. "It was on the floor in front of your locker. Any idea why it was there?"

Kelly grimaced. "I guess I was in a hurry last shift." It was a lame excuse, and he knew it.

Cap nodded. "Should I make you write an essay on the meaning of the badge?"

Chet's eyes widened. "No, Cap! I am no kid in school!"

As Cap handed him the badge, he looked Kelly straight in the eye. "I also considered making you check it in and out at my desk each shift…"

Chet was horrified at that prospect. "No way, Cap, please don't do that!"

Cap eyed him levelly for a moment. "You say you're not a kid. I agree. You are one of the best lineman around. That badge says so. I suggest you have a little respect."

Kelly nodded. "Yessir."

Stanley's expression softened a bit. He knew he had made his point. "Go get dressed. And, you will have latrine duty for the next three shifts. I suggest you not lose your badge again. Otherwise, I will buy you an engraved toilet brush."

Chet smiled ruefully. "Gee, thanks, Cap." He left the room with a casual salute.

Cap shook his head and gazed at the pile of reports. Maybe he should make Chet fill them out. That would be punishment enough for anyone! He chuckled and picked up another file.

~The End~


End file.
